Heroes
by one story at a time
Summary: Heroes, everyone knows those stories. Everyone strives to be one. But on what terms, make you a hero? Surely bravery and honesty.But these are all traits shared by villians as well. What is the difference? What makes you think heroes are truly heroes?
1. Villianous

Long time ago, I guess you could say we were happy.

Starving, beaten and bruised. But still, happy. I like to call those times when I still had a heart. Still whole as a person, not broken. We had an air of innocence. Age really didn't seem to matter when we were young. There were twenty years old who could whip out a sword and skin you in seconds.

Of course, I'll admit. We were badasses. Or still are. I don't see that group of kids anymore. Regulus. Bellenivue. Shizuka. Yung. That childhood, when I look back on it, it's like watching a television show. A movie. When I watch that little girl bury her best friend's sister, it's like watching from afar. I suppose I should be thankful that I can distance myself, from myself. Hah, thankful.

Oh yeah. I am sure thankful. Because being stuck in this stupid village with the shinobi which seem to breed like rabbits is where I want to be. Stuck making swords and repairing broken tools, laughed and stared at. When I grew up, I remember, out of all the lessons that were beaten into my skull, and do mean beaten literally, shinobi were the worse. Never lie, they said. Never bow, they said. Aim to kill, they said. But if was one thing that the drunk adults in the bar recited over and over again, shinobi are the worse. They killed us by the number, dragged our bodies and sold them. We were no different, of course. Assasins, mercernaries like us made a living off of chopping heads. But the damned shinobi. Oh, how they irked everyone. They, who thought themselves superior than us. It became a hate, a hate that was bred into us, one by one. Kids, if they survived starvation, grew to hate shinobi. But I guess, we never had a choice. We were given swords and seals and chakra natures and were expected to kill. The worse of it, was it was true. Superior to us in every way. The girls who dieted themselves on purpose, throwing out such waste when I knew people who would eat the rice, dirt and all. They could kill and kill, but their names were marked down in a Bingo Book, they were given medals and names of honor. We, mercernaries and assassins, could get no thing. I'm not complaining.

Shinobi, by tales, were smart and powerful. We as kids, sitting by the fire-side, told tales of such legends. Of shinobi with powerful flames that swallowed countries and swords that were taller than buildings. They were foolish stories and probably false. But with a little bread and some dried fruit that we had stole earlier, we could dream. But no matter what happened, the hero of the tale, the worshipped shinobi, would always encounter us. The bad guys, the villians. At most, we were stupid, big and brawny, never female but male. One in every tenth story there would be the cunning, the smart assassin. We never knew why the assassin was so cruel to the shinobi, I guess they never wanted us to know what the shinobi did to the assassins in the first place. After all,

But we learned quickly, that it was foolish to dream.

Regulus was the first to lose his dream, his heart. His father burned him alive when he was young, marring his face with twisted skin, charred black that never returned to original peach skin color as he aged. I killed my first man that day, along with Bellenivue, burned Reg's dad in the same way he killed his son. That day, we learned that the world was untrustworthy.

Bellinvue's dream died when his sister commited suicide, having fallen for a shinobi who broke her heart. He died that day, and crossed the place over his heart with a blade. The first of our traditions. He lost his heart that day. Reg an' I, we raced after that shinobi, ripped him to shreds. We learned that the world was unforgiving.

I lost mine when I watched Canary died. Heart ripped out, voice screaming. Seven years old, never hurt a fly. But killed nonetheless, because of the importance he held over the heads of our town. We learned that the world was unkind and unjust.

Regulus started his own gang, rising in rank and terror. Instead of bowing to his fears, he embraced them. Known everywhere as the Dragon Lord for his powerful flame attacks, he is the man I can call brother when my own abandoned me.

Bellinvue was the Green Man, a powerful earth jutsu man whose signature color was green, tanned brown skin marred by three pale scars on his left cheek.

And me, a blend of both, but never one to use jutsu. I was more of a metal lover myself, my signature blade the thin Bonechiller and two axes on my belt.

I once believed in heroes. I once thought that we were heroes. But I know better now. Heroes lie and decieve. Shinobi are heroes, but I am not a hero nor shinobi.

I am Renn of a thousand scars, who fights and claws and bites. I am imperfect and flawed, with a world chewing on my ass because of something I once was.

I am the shadows, I am fear.

I am the villian.


	2. Neutral

My parents died in a fire when I was young. I was found in their ashes, crying.

I am thankful for those who found me, a beautiful species of wolves who taught me how to live. To walk, to run, to eat. Always in the dept of my canine siblings. I knew that I was different. I was lost in a sea of song, and fur. At first, I did not let it bother me. I was a child back then, and I was loved.

I could not see that my lack of fangs would be a problem. That my coat would never be warm and I would spend every winter, sick and malnourished. My parents were the king and queen as you humans would say, Alpha Superiors in my native tongue. By nature and by law, I was princess, along with my siblings, Sepia and Alistair. Our older brother, Baltair seemed most fititng to the role of King, and so I played in the summers with my kin, blissfully unaware of what I truly was.

My father was fairly found of stories, and would whisper what was right and what was wrong into my ear. He was found of telling me the story of blood-thirsty villians and how one must never betray their family and friends, for betrayal was true villiany.

My mother balanced those stories with ones of heroes, of true bravery and kind, generous people. I was determined to be a hero, to never stray into the path of such dark intentions. Never, is truly a strong word.

But I am not brave like the wolves. I am a coward.

And it is my cowardice that got my brother killed.

It was winter, and I was stubborn. I was sick of the grueling lessons taught by our elders. I took my royal duties with a shaker of salt. The caribou were out and about, and despite my false heritage, I felt the need to prove myself. I had dragged Alistair with us, Sepia agreeing with every step and plan. It would not be hard, or so assumed.

My parents failed to tell us we weren't the only hunters. Humans. I had heard the word, but never seen them.

I wished I had not seen them in a field of a blood. They killed our kin, hunted them for fur in the bitter months. They killed Baltair and I, weak, fled into the bushes. My sobs were loud and I was found.

Dragged to their strange home, I was treated, lost in a world of new sounds and scared voices They carried their hearts too easily on their sleeve, and I knew something was wrong. Although I was warm and definately well-fed, I could not bring myself to smile. I bared my dull teeth and snarled. I would close my eyes and see the fallen face of Baltair, the howls of lost that would echo at night. I was a coward.

I escaped one eve, back into the woods I had known and grew up with, but when I thought I would be better, surrounded by my friends and family. I couldn't. I was one of those, those humans. I was set apart from the rest, and the guilt started to kick in.

I learned something that day.

Villians are truly evil, for they do not just rip you and scar you, they make your stomach twist in guilt and fear, question who you are and the reputation you hold on other people. But I can truly believe that Heroes are just as good? They fill you with false lies and smiles, that turn around and die on you. How can you truly trust a hero?

I am Rune of the wolves

I am neither good, nor bad. I am the neutral.


	3. Heroic

Second chances do not matter, for people never change. I repeat that to myself every day, afternoon and eve.

I did not remember my people, my kind. I remember a smiling face, the sense of a heartbeat in my ears. At once, I like to think, I had a sense of protection. A man's home is his castle, or something amongst those lines.

My home is usually a crook in the tree. Despite the forehead protector I proudly wear, I cannot bring myself to sleep under the roof of the village. It seems I have trust issues, but, really, that has never been a problem. There is nothing wrong with standing alone, often, it is better that way. Trust yourself, and rarely put your trust in others.

I often tell that to the girl in the marketplace as she sells her farm goods but she looks at me sighs. Says that I should trust, should befriend? _Don't you trust hokage-alpha-sama? _Respect is different from trust, I reply. I can't help but look at the shinobi of this place. Even the hokage, who put her trust into the snake, Orochimaru, suffered the consquences. Betrayal cuts deeper than any blade and I am determined not feel such a sting, not again.

I admit, it is lonely, remaing silent with nothing but the cold comfort of my steel arrows. A wooden bow. Even in the rain, I can say that life is good.

Once, it was not so good. When my stomach was a black-hole, and my face stung and burned on a daily basis. I close my eyes and catch my breath, for remembering is a painful thing. It burns my memory and my cheeks. It is why I try not to think, try not talk. Talking is painful, it stretches and pulls at my skin. But sometimes if just let myself relax, and breathe, for a moment I can pretend that I do not belong in the crowd, I am the crowd. Just a living breathing mass of mixed emotions. Nothing else.

And then my neck prickles and I open my eyes, I am back to myself, just another indiviual.

But the life of the hero is a lonely one, one I am determine to follow without fault or hesitation.

I am No-face.

I am the hero.


	4. Annoying

This was more difficult than any mission Naruto had ever been on. Pein, Itachi. Sasuke. All of it, he had never met such circumstances when he was up against a wall. He would rather be training with Bushy Brows than this.

Ducking behind an alley-way, the blonde shinobi leaned against the wall exhaled. He just really wanted some ramen, was that really too much? Apparently so, for from the corner of his eye, he saw a flit of black on the tiled rooftops and he took off like someone had just lit his shoes on fire.

The orange shinobi ran down the cobblestone pathway of the village he called home when in a mere matter of minutes a number of things happened. Naruto heard the sound of his familiar voices of his sensei and his team-mate Sakura. The full on collision with the pink-haired girl. The shrill voice of her screaming in his ear and the punch that connected with his cheek. He, as he toppled into yet another girl who seemed just as shocked by the events at hand for the crate of food she was carrying, slipped from her hands as she tripped forward. Naruto was still dazed from the impact when he saw it. His doom. Dead by fruit box. What a way to go. He closed his eyes as he heard the crate thump.

But not against his head. He opened an eye. And then another. And the blonde shinobi scowled. Death by fruit would be better than this. The shadows over his eye turned to light as the taller man stood over him, blank eyes staring down at him. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head scowling.

No words came from his mouth, but the pride still seemed to be there and that stung more than any kunai. He could hear Sakura's voice and looked up, frowning.

"Naruto, are you okay?" No, of course not. He just couldn't shake this guy.

"Yeah, I'm alright Sakura-chan."

He expected a hand, he would love the hand of his academy crush but she looked up, amazed at the stranger.

He had been amazed when he first saw him. He was an entire two heads taller than Naruto and he wore the common dark green vest of the shinobi. He could see the faded hems of a white shirt underneath and the dark blue pants. But what was most curious about the stranger was the white plain mask that covered the entire of his face with tiny slits for eyes. Scars zigzagged his bare arms, and burn was placed on his shoulders, shining brightly in the sun.

"Thank you! Stupid klutz!" The insult turned to Naruto as yet another blow to the top of his head caused him to bend over in pain.

"You are welcome, Sakura." The stranger said from behind his mask before turning and giving the crate to the poor girl who had risen to her feet and leaning against her cart. She turned to No-Face and the brightened instantly, reveiling two curved fangs on the upper and lower jaws of her mouth. She smiled a toothy grin and with a voice like a bird, sang something in an unfamiliar language before taking the box from the masked one's hands and placing it into her cart.

Sakura then turned to masked shinobi and smiled. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The shinobi than bowed at the waist, a long deep bow for respect before once again rising to tower over the pink kunoichi. "They call me No-Face." He concluded, a voice of neutral feeling that reminded her a little too much like Sai. "Well, thank you again for saving that dunce's head."

The shinobi paused, as if thinking before shaking his head. "It is my duty to protect the jinchuriki. A mission that I will not take lightly. Had you not run, Naruto, then I would have able to keep my prescence still hidden." He turned to the orange-suited teen and Naruto frowned.

Sakura tilted her head, slightly confused as her eyebrows scrunched up her overly big forehead. "I'll explain it over lunch." Naruto sighed, shooting daggers at his bodygaurd as he started to walk away. Naruto turned to Kakashi, as the silver-haired shinobi merely shrugged his shoulders nonchantantly.

And when Naruto looked over his shoulder once more to No-face, the man was gone. Another scowl and deep growl from Naruto but one that didn't last long. He was going to have ramen and have ramen with Sakura!

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at Ichiraku's in which the two sat down on the bar stools. Served with a smile, as not only was Naruto a revered war hero, but their favourite and best customer as well. Splitting his chopsticks, Naruto was ready to dig into his meal when Sakura spoke up.

"No-face huh? When did you get a bodygaurd?" Sakura asked, staring into her bowl of noodles.

"Can't we talk about something else?" Naruto pleaded, an anxious look on his face. Anything but that weirdo in their conversation. But the frown and glare from Sakura told him that it was direct no.

"Lady Hokage's order." The voice was not Naruto's but Kakashi's who had magically appeared by Naruto's right. And the hopes of this being a date for Naruto flew out of the window.

"Hokage's orders? For Naruto to have a bodygaurd?" Sakura questioned, ignoring Naruto and focusing on the face of her sensei.

"Although the Fourth Shinobi war has ended, the Samurai believe that jinchuriki are still in danger. Not to mention, the other seven tailed beasts are sealed and have yet to be confirmed back into their hosts, all of the Gokage want to be sure that the jinchuriki are in no danger of being killed."

"But why No-Face for a body-guard? Why not me or some of Naruto's friends?" Sakura mused, finally bring some noodles to her mouth, chewing softly. Naruto had moved onto his second bowl and was promising to finish that in mere seconds.

"Because of Naruto's hold on them. It was decided by Lady Tsunade would pick one of the strongest shinobi by record. No-Face was picked for three reasons. A) He has on no account, ever met Naruto and has only heard of him. B) He takes his job very seriously and as seen, holds exetreme stealth, skill, speed and experience." Kakashi ended with a shrug, leaving Sakura and Naruto to fume over their bowls of ramen.

Naruto sighed, signalling for his third bowl when he heard the familiar call of his friend. He turned on his stool and immediately scowled. Shikamaru seemed puzzled by such a dark greeting, before turning behind him and seeing the shadow of Naruto's bodyguard.

"Look, Naruto we have a problem. Killer Bee wants to talk to you."

Perking up with curiosity at the mentioned eighth jinchuriki, Naruto opened his mouth to question Shikamaru but was stopped by a hand. "No time, follow me."


	5. Against the Blacksmith's Hammer

Renn was exhausted. Physically.

Her wrists were on fire and when she opened her eyelids, they were black with charcoal and dust. She stank of smoke and steel. She could still hear it, rumbling underneath her spine. The scraping of steel against the sharpening wheels, the rhythmic thumping of hammer against the molding red hot metal.

She was taking a break, a little afternoon snooze before she hopped off the shingles and back into the blacksmith area. The idea of Politics and the Gokage flew over her head like birds but if there is one thing that the stupid ninja did with every war. They made it too easy for her to rake in the cash. When Pein destroyed the village, shinobi came to her little shop asking for repairs in the in their kunai and katanas because Renn the Blacksmith set up shop on the border outside of the village. As if she would stroll around in plain view. Peh.

Some assumed it was just business planning but Renn didn't enjoy living in Konoha, didn't enjoy working in the area. If she was far enough away, she could almost think she was back home in the quite desolate Bear Country. She was thinking about it now, her home. Slow her breathing down, she tried to imagine it. She would open her eyes and seeing the smirking grins of her best friends. Be surrounded by the comfort she had grown up with. After a day of killing they would settle down the campfire, roast some beef and then all fall off their logs to stare at the stars. The cobblestones would be a mixture of grey and dirt, withered down by the feet that walked it's path. Feel the laughter of the few mercernaries that dare open up, how good it was to see that charred face smile.

Oh, she wished. But the tavern roof was rotten wood which she was constantly repairing. The metal shingles dug into the fabric of her shirt and the air was far too sweet with birdsong and the chatterings of squirrels. The sun seemed brighter here too, which was damn annoying.

She frowned and struggled to relax, finding herself tense.

"Yo Renn."

Godamnnit. She could always ignore the voice, ignore the few people she had on staff. But who was she kidding? She wouldn't be able to snooze, not today. The overwhelming chatter oozed happiness, sweet as honey to some, but to Renn it was like swallowing pills, bitter. Every time she even walked into town, it was victory this, and success that. Bitter and vile, she had taken to having someone else walk around with the deliveries rather than walk around the too cheery village.

Slowly as her limbs ached, Renn sidled down the shingles and landed on the ground. Hands on hips, she turned to Jiro, grinding her teeth against one another. The lack of afternoon dozing and the fact her shoulders were aching, she scowled, agitated. "What?" She snapped, fingers curling, and uncurling.

Used to the bold and rude behaviour and almost amused, Jiro smiled wanely before gesturing over his shoulder with a nod of his head. "Customers. Expecting you." Immediately, she groaned, stuck out her tongue and stalked into the small shop, weaving through the back doors and to the counter, where a young man sat on a computer, tapping like a madman, eyes glued to the screen.

Walking past the counter, she glanced at the group, scowling. Curious group of people. Like someone had poured neon paint over the bunch. Seriously, pink? Pink was only useful as a color if you were trying to blend in with a flock of flamingoes. And orange? God, it was like a pumpkin threw up on him. Jiro himself snickered, must be having similiar thoughts to Renn. The rest of the group seemed to have the natural ninja decor, the uniforms, the annoying shiny headbands. Until...

Like a wild animal, she bared her teeth and snarled. "What the hell are you doing here?" She snapped, fingers cracking as she prepared herself to fight. "Hey ! Hey !" One of the group protested and as Renn moved forward, she pushed him aside. "I ain't talking to you numbskull. You. Get. Out." She hissed, a slightly black finger poking the masked ninja in the chest. The typing stopped as the young man paused, a frown on his face before continuing to type and the tall Jiro snickered.

Stepping back, she hissed, her hands flying above her head. "One of you are even bleeding! I am a blacksmith, not a doctor." She snapped, before the one with the pineapple do (really?) coughed slightly and pushed the others away. "It's the reason why we are here."

Renn paused, both curious and astonished, but unable to wipe off the frown. "What." She snapped, easing backwards as the shinobi in the what looked to be expensive scarf and shades, and from his back pulled at a handle. A blade. The sounds of the work stopped, and Renn narrowed her eyes, ready to give this guy a fist to the face when he laid the sword, or fish, or sword-fish on the floor, which was the cause of the bleeding.

Samehada. Shark-skin. She had heard of the sword, everyone had. Famous for it's own persona from the Village hidden the Mist, taken by Kisame of the Akatsuki. How it ended in the hands of someone from the Cloud Village, (goddamned cloud shinobi, don't get her started) got it, she had no idea. She snorted, looked at the crowd of people and rubbed her temple. "I fix it, you get out." The masked shinobi nodded, yet to utter a sound.

Frowning, she blinked once as the living breathing sword hissed, baring colorless teeth in her direction. "Why me?" She asked, gaze wandering to the group, who was circling the small area in a wide berth. Clearing his throat, the ninja gestured to the sword, which was both hissing and moaning. The scales were half-covered in bandages, some stained with blood. By the look of things, some scales had been ripped off, showing a steel colored skin underneath.

"We have tried several different blacksmiths, but the, uh, sword doesn't seem to like being touched. Nor treated." She snorted, cutting off his chatter. "Of course not, not when you call it 'it'. It's a living, breathing thing with a name, show some respect." She snapped as the hissing died. "And you, bite me and I'll kick you to the moon." A threat she would be all too happy to do.

Crouching low and balancing on the balls of her feet, she merely looked over the sword, smelling of fish, sweat and blood. Samehada, the sword with a personality, stopped hissing as she ran her fingers over the blade, careful to gently probe the area of the wound. Huffing, she got to her feet and clapped her hands together. "Alright, write your name down, I'll fix it up and return it to ya." She pointed a thumb over her back at the book in which Jiro was holding up. "Now, ya want me to try and rush it?"

"Yes, thank you." A low growl accompanied the answer, before she awkwardly gripped the handle of the sword, watching as it moved and straightened to adjust to her grip. Marveling over it silently, she walked into the safety of the area in which she worked.

Jiro gestured to them, tapping the book with a pen. "How much it will it cost?"

Jiro shrugged, "Depends on how hard it was. You know, it differs. You asked for a rush, so she's probably going to pull an over-nighter to fix it. Not to mention it's _the _Samehada so that's probably going to cost ya. Renn is fickle with the pricing, so you know, best to keep whole hell of ryo on ya." A mischeivous grin as the ninja groaned, placing the pen down and gesturing for the others to leave.

With a whole-hearted thank-you, Jiro waved them good-bye turning to look at the young man who was still typing madly on his computer. "No-face eh? Bet Renn's gonna charge him triple after all they've been through. Good thing though. With all that ryo we could have a little feast." He laughed at the thought as the typist nodded, a wane smile of his own brightening his face.


End file.
